The Old Man and the Window

I paused for a few moments from my novel writing and glanced out the window and noticed an old man staring out his bedroom window from the memory care facility next to my house. I must admit, I usually forget (no pun) that it is there most days.

His weathered face, lines deeply embedded down his cheeks, spoke of his loneliness and despair. A blue shirt bright and fresh below his silver gray hair brushed backward inviting the outside world into his realm. The years of memories locked inside his head would reap volumes of stories and tales.

Bright sunshine illuminated the surface of the window with deep shadows behind himold man. It was if his face was planted on the window pane and darkness encompassed everything else. It made me wonder how marvelous the brain is and the opportunity we are granted each day to use the ingenious attributes of the most complex organ.

Thinking of my fictional characters in my story line and how I can leave them trapped within the pages with no way out. The old man is trapped inside his own body with no way out yet he waits. Like sea creatures at low tide waiting for the returning tides.

His wait will be eternal, no refreshing, no daylight, only darkness. One day his soul will be released and free. I cannot imagine not remembering. The scent of the damp salty air, the sounds of the crashing surf, the grains of sand beneath my feet. The prickly raindrops against my face.

The red sunsets and sunrises. The realm of nature in all its glory. My children and grandchildren. Smiles and tears. Joy and laughter. Some things I would like to forget. The bad times, the struggles and despair. Mistakes, illness and wrong choices. Failures and disappointments.

However, often it is those things that we would like to forget that allow the things we want to remember remain foremost in our minds. At least he has no worry of the painful past or the painful present.

The old man remained at the window for quite a while. Searching for memories of days gone by. I wish I could sit a spell with him and hear stories of long ago. He has a gift inside and doesn’t know it. Unable to recall but sealed forever his precious gift is. Peace and comfort will be a new chapter one day.          ~Patrick Timm

Words Forever . . .

“Once upon a time there was a writer and he wrote a book.
Then he began to take a second look.
He flipped through the pages from beginning to end, remembering the words from way back then.
A story had been told and a desire to write another, but when?
The writer sat comfortablestock-footage-girl-reads-the-book-on-the-bank-of-river (1) in his chair.
And he stared out the window with some despair.
He realized he missed his characters so much.
All of their adventures and such.
He could write more words and bring them back.
Or just close his eyes and relax.
The written word lives on forever.
Like the running water of a river.” ~Patrick Timm

Winter’s Chill Arrives in Autumn’s Mist . . .

Be still. Listen to the wind. The sun shines bright. Barren branches grace the sky. The chill is here. The season welcomes you into nature’s world. Delicate ice crystals flee the rising sun gathering in the shadows. Be still. Listen to the wind. It talks to you. Now, just nod and smile.

Clear skies and sunshine graced the landscape. Brisk east winds fresh from snow covered lands ushered in yet another round of winter’s chill. Autumn sits back in a vexatious mood while winter weather takes the stage.

“You are a bit early are you not?” asks Autumn. Winter ignores Autumn’s soft spoken tone and takes a deep breath ready to expel another cold gust of wind. “Do you not hear my request of reprieve? We are not ready for your chill. Your time will come and mine beckons to continue for a short while. I am not finished with my task. Your presence has so quickly discolored my season too early it seesnow-flurryms. Can I not have more days?”

Winter retracts from its grumpy mood and stares at Autumn. “I suppose we can make a compromise. Perhaps we can share the realm of time. Am I all of what it seems? Is there not beauty and solace in my offerings? Perhaps I was a bit hasty to enter the land. I will grant you a reprieve for just a short while. But remember, I will be close by. Finish your cheer. Moisten the air and leave your puddles upon the ground. And then after that I will return.”

Autumn smiled. “Thank you my dear friend. As you leave in a few days hence, I will reign once again. I will bring back the clouds and rain. And offer a south and west wind to temper your chilly mood.”

Yes, there can be peace in nature’s realm. Anxious to entertain it can sometimes overwhelm. ~Patrick TImm

Rainy Days . . . Reflections

I guess I was in one of those somber moods recently while preparing to write my column. Sitting at my desk I looked out the window at the gloomy gray skies and rain. My mind full of plot lines of my current novel in progress, tasks to do and other trite things.
rain-gauge-kids_-800X800My mind shortly back in the present, I could hear the chorus of frogs through the slightly opened rain splattered window. A robin was pulling a huge night crawler from the emerging green blades of grass below my window. A neighbor dressed in an armor of rain gear walked her little dogie also with a raincoat on his back down the street. A comical pair of Mallard ducks once again landed in the swelling retention pond across the street from my window. Thoughts of childhood and a young tow haired boy with a bright yellow raincoat and rubber boots wading in every puddle that came his way danced in front of me. I chuckled with memories of rainy days. The world was alive and well, yes indeed. In my mind and out the window. Remember–after the gray skies and rain, clearing skies will follow. The sun will shine. Reflect and enjoy the moment. ~Patrick Timm

Writing . . . Not For The Faint Of Heart


They say you must be thick skinned to be a weatherman. I know from writing a newspaper column for over 23 years you must be also as a writer. Someone  will always critique your words and comment. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. After completing my first novel last fall, I entered  a whole new realm of feedback from other writers and beta book readers. It was  like jumping back in the kettle of hot water after decades of more journalism type of writing. 

Anyone can write–right?

I just read Kristen Lamb’s blog (Writing-So Easy a Caveman Can Do It).

If you are a writer, especially an Indie Author, I encourage you to read her blog. ~Patrick Timm

Winter Of My Life . . .

I have always enjoyed autumn, it is the best season of all. Crisp cool days. Breezes blowing colorful leaves throughout the air. I can finally wear a sweatshirt or jacket and be comfortable. Fresh snow on the craggy peaks. Anticipation of the upcoming holidays. Cozy evenings by the fireplace. A time to slow down and reflect of the past.


This year as I sit here in the middle  of the winter season and look out at the cold sunshine I began to think. Time has a way of moving quickly and catching you unaware of the passing years. It seems like yesterday that I was young starting my career and family. Yet in a way, it seems like a lifetime ago, and I  wonder where all the years went. I have lived them all and have glimpses of how it was back then and of all my hopes and dreams.

But here it is, the winter of my life in reality. I guess it caught me by surprise, oh how did it get here so fast?

Where did the years go and where did my youth go? Reminds me of the song “Where have all the flowers gone? Long time passing . . .”

Throughout my years I saw older people thinking that those older people were years away from me. The fact is—my friends are retired and getting gray. I look at them and they are older now, some move a little slower. I can see the change. I  am now one of those older folks that I used to see and never thought I would be there. Almost everything is an effort now, just taking care of myself. Taking a nap doesn’t seem like a treat anymore but a necessity.

Well, now I must come to the realization that this is final season of my life for I have lived through spring, summer and fall. I am unprepared for the aches and pains and the inability to go back and do all the things that I wish I had done. On the calendar the winter season has a predetermined set of days. In life I don’t really know my remaining days. Two or three years, 12 or 20 years? I do know, that when it’s over on this earth…it’s over. 

Regrets? Yes, I have regrets. There are things I wish I hadn’t done and things I should have done . My one pleasure is knowing there are many things I’m happy to have done. Spring, summer and fall, yeah I was busy.

If one figures there are twenty years to each of the four seasons of an average life, think where you are as they come and go quickly. Whatever you would like to accomplish in your life do it now.

Of course we never have the promise that we will see all the seasons of life so live each day to the fullest. I realize my children are becoming me. I get a little forgetful at times—I like to think it is just all that data in my memory banks overflowing.

I look at my clothes in my closet, I must have several sizes of clothes. Heck, I will never wear most of them.

Getting old is enjoyable in some ways, I daydream of the good old days, old songs, old movies, old friends, playing outside and other antics. A life much simpler than now. No worries then. Life was eternal.

I remember my Father-In-Law in  his winter season of life. He always had ripe bananas in his fruit bowl on the table. I made mention of this one time and he replied that at his age he doesn’t buy any green bananas. That always stuck in my mind. I chuckle each time I select a banana now.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not giving up on life—just realizing I must make the most of my remaining days for they are numbered. The actual spring season is about 75 days away but my mind and body will be frozen in the winter of my life throughout the remaining calendar seasons that God grants me to see .  No mid-life crisis, way beyond  that. Each sunset will be a reminder of my life that I have lived.

Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing?
Where have all the flowers gone, long time ago?

Where have all the flowers gone?
Young girls have picked them everyone.
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Where have all the graveyards gone, long time passing?
Where have all the graveyards gone, long time ago?
Where have all the graveyards gone?
Gone to flowers, everyone.
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?


End of the Year Thoughts . . .

Book one in my trilogy, Whispers In The Wind~The Calling  is now published and available both as an Ebook and paperback at Amazon, Barnes and Noble and others. I am working on book two and hope to have it out in summer 2014. It was quite an experience writing a first novel.  Different from writing my column or articles. A great learning process from researching, writing, editing and on to marketing.  A BIG thanks to those that gave me feedback and purchased the book.

My wish for each of my followers is for a very Happy New Year!


Pat Timm

Book Release Scheduled for November 1, 2013

coverWhispers in the Wind~The Calling is scheduled for release November 12, 2013. This is the first book in the trilogy, Whispers in the Wind.  Print and Ebooks available  on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and others.  An eBook is available on

Book overview~

It is early autumn in the Pacific Northwest and Jack Bellard, an independent copywriter in Portland, Oregon was looking for a break from his busy life. He ventures out for a day hike on Mount Hood and stumbles upon an unknowing pathway back in time. Sharing his adventure with Lisa Willows, a production coordinator with a large corporation, they encounter two worlds over a century apart. Jack discovers that he once lived in that past and was good friends with a native Indian tribe and in love with a beautiful Indian maiden. As his feelings grow for Lisa, memories return of his love for the Indian maiden. Throughout a twist of seeking the whispers in the wind, Jack must ultimately make the most important decision of his life. One man, now in a world of his own, drawn there by a world he left behind.